


Touchy Feely

by 3_idiots



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (for now?), Alive Hale Family, Alpha Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Beta Derek, Beta Scott, Cora! Works! At! Starbucks! and wants to die because of it, Flashbacks, Humor, Isaac you embodiment of sass you, Lmao but it's my universe, M/M, Over complicated soulbonds, POV Alternating, Polyamorous soulbonds, Scott has tattoos, Slow Burn, Somewhat manic writing style, Song references, Soulbonds, Stiles is a writer poor bastard, Stiles' phone sucks, This Universe has some shitty rules, as in A LOT OF FLASHBACKS, derek has tattoos, even more then derek, every other chapter it switches, so so many tattoos, soulbonds not soul"mates", soulbonds ≠ dating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 08:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14233308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3_idiots/pseuds/3_idiots
Summary: “No amount of staring at my boss is worth another concussion.”“I sincerely doubt that!” Stiles wagged a finger at him.“Sti, it really isn't, you know Derek's a waiting for the touch kinda guy,” Scott pleaded.“Yeah, only Derek and I haven't touched yet.”Scott dropped his pen.“What?”~~~A Soulmate AU revolving around touch.





	Touchy Feely

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! So I'm idi2, and I'm new to the fandom!! Only on season 3 and kinda got too wrapped up in the Sterek fandom to watch more haHA! 
> 
> Beta-ed by unmei_na_no_da_yo!!!!!! Who is SOSOSOSOSOSO SOOOOO AWESOME!
> 
> Anyway, thank you for checking this fic out, hope you enjoy!

Dear god it was  _ morning.  _

_ Fuuuuck.  _

Like most mornings everything came at him all at once--the light from his open window, the familiar feel of his keyboard digging into his cheek, something that smelled  _ edible(maybe he was just dreaming about pancakes again?)  _ down the hall but it was getting smothered by the overall, slightly guilting sent of Stiles’ need to do laundry. 

Stile snapped his head up, relieved to see that he was actually in his bed. 

Even if… he was lying the wrong way in it. 

_ Semantics!  _ that little part of his brain that seemed to have a direct line of control over his mouth shouted. He named it once--when he was like seven. 

What did he name it again? That little gnat inside that loved to just…  _ noise.  _

Stiles pushed himself up, rolling his neck and wincing as he did. His Mac made a sucky,  _ sucky  _ pillow. He should complain. Or get one of those nice keyboards that came with the wrist cushions. But that would mean getting a desktop. He was too  _ young  _ for a desktop. In order to own a desktop he either had to be fourty or own a small business. And he had neither, wouldn’t for another seventeen years. 

Once Stiles had somewhat slumped off of his bed he spun around looking for his phone. 

_ Oh dear shit did I not plug it in?  _ Stiles ran for his night stand, it was cluttered with mugs and an alarm clock that he’d gotten from Walmart and a lamp Allison got him with her employee discount when she worked at Target, as payment in advance for  _ filming  _ her  _ fantastic  _ “I QUIT!” scene a week later. Apparently working at Target was  _ hell.  _

The alarm clock--which didn’t actually have the right time because the building had lost power five months ago that one time and he hasn’t gotten around to changing it--wasn’t really used for the  _ clock  _ bit and more for the two power ports it offered, one was occupied by his computer charger, the other his  _ phone.  _

Stiles yanked on the cord only to see it lead towards the nest that was currently his sheets and comforter. He scrambled back onto his bed and kept tugging on the cord until the end popped up. And with his  _ phone attached!  _ Thank  _ jesus! And buddha! Maybe Dionysus! Whoever it was that plugged in his phone because it sure as hell hadn’t been Stiles!  _

It was at a  _ whopping  _ one-hundred percent! Although that couldn’t really be trusted, Stiles had long since learned that it wasn’t that his phone had a sucky  _ battery  _ it was just  _ shit  _ at  _ gauging  _ the actual percentage, as in, it’d stay at something crazy like ninety-four percent for  _ hours  _ then when it was at thirty it’d die half a minute later. 

A true tragedy.

Stiles didn’t really know how he managed most days. 

_ With lots and  _ lots  _ of medication  _ that little part of his brain supplied. 

_ All too true--tiny voice that I can’t remember the name of. Steve? No… there’s no way I’d name you after Mr. Stars and Stripes.  _

Stiles promptly ignored the few random texts he had. As long as the contact didn’t start with an  _ ‘L’  _ it wasn’t life threatening to ignore it until after he showered. And he  _ needed  _ a shower. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and he could smell himself  _ too well.  _ Scott would probably yell at him for taking up too much hot water, but it was honestly for his keen-nosed friend’s benefit, and his wolfy boyfriend,  _ and  _ his girlfriend who, y’know, had a  _ nose.  _

Stiles ran a hand through his hair as he played the daily game of hopscotch he had with the clothes on his bedroom floor. He escaped his bedroom without causality and  _ quietly  _ turned the doorknob, the overly obnoxious  _ click  _ of the lock sounded throughout the hall. Lovely. Here he was just trying to sneak around his own apartment and the fucking door was gonna turn on him. The  _ humani-- _ no wait-- _ the doormanity!  _

Stiles just resigned himself to his ultimate fate of being found in a conscious state pre-shower and possibly be forced into human contact. But he wouldn’t go down without a fight! 

And with those positive thoughts in mind, Stiles promptly booked it out the door of his bedroom and toward the tiny bathroom across the hall. He was saved. 

The bathroom was actually  _ empty  _ which was  _ so unlikely  _ considering he lived with three people. Or well,  _ technically  _ he lived with one other person but their water bill and the increased amount of take out they’d had to order for the past few  _ months  _ told a different story. 

Although, Scott couldn’t be blamed, it was the universe that was unwelcomingly dumping new roomies on their asses. Or no--Scott’s ass, Stiles’ ass wasn’t involved in  _ any way  _ and  _ noooooooo  _ now  _ that  _ image was in his head! Good _ bye  _ to any Stiles’-shower-alone-fun-time! 

Stiles shuddered as he dropped his pants to pee. 

⇶⇶⇶⇶⇶

Once Stiles was showered and a riddlin hath been popped he headed to the tiny kitchen of his and Scott’s apartment as he tugged down his bright red  **_Ba_ ** _ rium/ _ **_Co_ ** _ balt/ _ **_N_ ** _ itrogen  _ tee. Isaac was leaning against the counter in a blue sweater and didn’t seem on that happy about life as he ate out of the bowl of cereal in his hands. A quick glance to the left and Stiles saw Allison and Scott on the sofa--a grey-green thing that was old as shit--with their feet up on the coffee table with their ankles crossed over each others’. They were also sharing a cereal bowl. 

All three of them were armed with tired looks and spoons. 

“Is there a reason you’re not in on the food-sharing-cuddle-fest?” Stiles asked Isaac as he swung open the fridge door. 

“He didn’t want a bowl of  _ happiness!”  _ Scott called from the living room. Dang werewolf hearing. The only conversations Stiles was able to have privately anymore were the ones in his head. 

“I didn’t want to rot my teeth out,” Isaac corrected, his blonde curls were still messy from sleeping, “And so I was banished for wanting mini-wheats instead of frosted flakes.” 

“The  _ audacity!”  _ Stiles gasped as he grabbed the whole milk. Because two percent was simply not as good, and one percent was just  _ icky _ . And skim was a  _ sin.  _

“Thank you!” Scott responded. 

Stiles snagged his own bowl from the still open cabinet door, filling it from the still open and on the counter box of frosted flakes and happily accepting the spoon Isaac offered. 

After drowning his  _ hearty and healthy  _ breakfast in milk Stiles set his bowl down on the tiny island in the apartment's itty bitty kitchen and slid into one of the two not-matching bar stools they had for it. 

Stiles rested his still bare feet on one of the stool’s rungs, munching on his cereal, pulling out his phone--

And promptly choking on the sugary and calcium infused goodness. 

“ _ Whaaat the fuck!”  _ Stiles cried, causing his roommate and roommate’s significant others to stare at him. 

“What's wrong--?” Allison, bless her heart, tried to ask before Stiles started having a total freak out. 

“Cora sent me a  _ text!”  _ he exclaimed, and if Stiles was doing anything other than staring at his phone's lock screen he'd see Scott's usual  _ 'whu?’  _ face times ten, Isaac almost dropping his  _ mini-wheats _ and Allison gaping like a fish outta water. It couldn't be true. It just-- _ this had to be breaking some laws of the universe _ . 

“Cora! Cora doesn't  _ text  _ she  _ calls  _ people like the old woman she truly is inside. She  _ faxed  _ me one time. I don't even think she has a smartphone so texting would take a  _ lot  _ of effort, having to hold down the numbers to make sure it selects the right letter and then hitting okay and… and  _ oh my God what could it even say?”  _ Stiles started at his phone and held it slightly further from him. 

It might explode. He didn't know. 

Anything could happen today.  _ Anything _ . After all, Cora Hale sent him a  _ fucking text _ .

“Is that… do you know more than one Cora?” Scott asked. 

“Noo…” Stiles shook his head vigorously, “Okay, who says it's a good idea to send my phone down the garbage disposal before the Skynet level virus Cora undoubtedly sent me activates, takes control of the microwave and kills us all?” 

“Wouldn't she send an  _ email  _ if that was the case?” Isaac asked. 

“Oh my  _ shit _ , true. This must be much worse then,” Stiles concluded.

“Wait are we actually gonna die?” Scott asked in a small voice. 

“Oh Christ, Stiles just  _ open _ it already,” Allison huffed. 

“Okay… oook...ii...dokie. Anybody wanna film this? Also no matter  _ what  _ she claims I don't want Erica writing my eulogy.” 

That was the last thing Stiles said before he bit his bit dramatically, tapped the text alert and  _ slloowwwlly  _ unlocked his phone. 

The depressingly empty text conversation he had open with Cora popped up on screen, the last message in it had been him telling her that she didn’t always need to  _ call  _ and her simply responding  **_[no.]_ ** . From like two months ago. When they first met. 

Then he read the message Stiles and just about  _ threw his phone across the room.  _

It was a photo of a naked back, a naked  _ muscled  _ back, the only thing obscuring it being the apron straps around the figure’s back and the bow low by his waist.

Fucking  _ Derek  _ had his head turned over his shoulder--the shoulder with the  _ tree, _ Stiles was gonna die--eyebrow raised as he looked back at the camera, that dark, swirly triskelion practically framed by his shoulder blades, the three moons under it, thin crisp lines that followed down his spine and just-- _ holy fuck _ . He was standing by the stove in his and Cora’s apartment. An apartment that had  _ awesome windows  _ so there were rays of holy-angel-light shining down on his  _ naked back.  _ A back that practically brought Stiles to tears when there was a  _ shirt  _ on it. 

Stiles didn’t know when he shoved his fist into his mouth but that was really the only proper reaction to the image of Derek Hale in bright morning sunlight with his muscles and his tattoos and his  _ muscles  _ on full display. 

The caption read  **_[Now I don’t owe you shit for helping me at work yesterday]_ ** . 

“YOU…! EVIL…!” Stiles stammered at his phone, haphazardly pulling his knuckles out of his mouth so it was more of a  _ ‘HUGH--EH-VEHL…!’ _ . 

Stiles ignored Isaac’s and Scott’s and Allison’s yammering questions as Stiles typed out a text block that would make Cora  _ rue  _ the day she met Stiles Stilinski. 

⇶⇶⇶⇶⇶

**A Little Over Two Months Ago:**

Stiles had only been working for Hale publishing for about… two weeks… two and a _half_ weeks or so when he’d had the most terrifying experiences of his life. And one time he’d gotten himself stuck in a movie theater bathroom the day of _The_ _Force Awakens_ premiere. And it still haunted him to this day. 

He’d been walking back to his desk from the break room, hearts in his eyes that were directed to Barbra from human resources who’d brought  _ mini danishes  _ and  _ shared them.  _ With a prize piece of cheesy, fluffy perfection and a cup o’ joe in his hands. 

That particular day, if he remembered correctly, he’d been a bit too hipster for even his own tastes, glasses on for hours of staring at his laptop, flash-tee, brick orange pants, a soft blue button down giving him the allusion of dressing professionally, and chunky chucks. 

And the entire ensemble had be  _ ruined  _ only half a second after the elevator doors opened and a  _ wave  _ had gone past him, leaving havok in its wake. 

And coffee all over his shirt and his  _ danish  _ careening towards Jeff, his cubicle neighbor.  

Stiles didn’t have any time to mourn when all his attention had been sucked towards the blur of a human being and the  _ roar  _ that came out of them. 

“LAAAAAAUUURRAAAA!!” 

Laura Hale, who was his boss, and was actually a really chill boss who sometimes looked at Stiles like he was one of those live streams of cute baby animals in zoos. 

Endangered yet adorable. 

He’d only been working there two weeks at the time, but even then he didn’t want to watch his boss get  _ murdered.  _

Only the rest of the office hadn’t been freaking out? Strange? And very, very unsettling? 

That light-speed traveling thing had already busted into Laura’s office by the time Stiles finished that thought and registered the feeling of hot coffee all over his front and Jeff yelped as he got assaulted with a pastry. 

But after that there hadn’t been a speed-demon creature running around the office, oh no, instead there was a confused but angry looking short girl with brown hair and scary eyes standing in the doorway to Laura’s office. 

“Where’s Laura?” she demanded, her hand angrily gripping the doorway. He hair was straight but currently a bit messy from whiplash, she had had on a short black leather jacket, dark jeans and a maroon tee shirt. 

That had been Cora Hale, as Stiles learned later. But in the moment Stiles’ brain referred to her as  _ Scary-Speedy-Leather-Girl.  _

“In a meeting?” Stiles had squeaked, and winced more as the hot coffee on him started to cool on his shirt. Yike. 

_ Scary-Speedy-Leather-Girl  _ had sneered, marched over to  _ poor Jeff’s-- _ he’d been trying to finish a presentation since last Friday--desk, straight up  _ stole  _ a pack of sticky notes  _ and  _ a pen, scribbled on one, ripped it off with much more force than had been necessary and  _ smacked  _ it only Stiles’ coffee soaked chest so hard he’d almost fallen over.

“Call me when she gets back so that I can storm in again,” she’d said, brown eyes flashing gold as if he’d needed more reinforcement that she was a were and could throw him out the nearest window if she wanted. 

It was the start of a  _ debatably magical  _ friendship. 

⇶⇶⇶⇶⇶

And thus, months later, when Stiles discovered that the terrifying girl was just Cora, a college senior who worked at  _ Starbucks  _ because her family was  persnickety when it came to spending money, it had become part of his routine to go and taunt her each morning. 

Although  _ this  _ morning he had another reason to go. 

To order  _ the  _ most complicated and pumpkin flavored drink Starbucks had  _ despite  _ it being March because he knew Cora would be making it and  _ knewww _ w she hated the smell. 

Because that text?  _ Despicable.  _

She deserved punishment. 

So that was why Stiles found himself scowling at the world as he pushed open the door to the chain coffee shop closest to his workplace, phone in hand and anger fixed  _ poignantly  _ at a certain brunette barista. 

But there was a  _ line.  _ But, honestly, of course there was a line, it was half past eight in the morning and it was a  _ coffee shop.  _

Still made him angry, though. He didn’t look as dramatic if had to patiently wait in line. But he wasn’t going to be a dick and cut, he wasn’t  _ so mad  _ that he’d guarantee himself a first class ticket to hell. 

Because cutters went to hell. 

It was a fact. 

Stiles stewed as he waited in line for the entire four seconds he had before the door to the shop opened again and an arm wrapped itself around his shoulders. 

“Why so grumpy?” Erica asked, she came to this particular Starbucks every morning for the same reason he did, to torture Cora. 

Stiles crossed his arms and  _ huffed _ , looking over at Erica to see her bright red lips turn down into a sympathetic pout. 

“Cora ruined the favor she owed me from yesterday!” 

“You mean pretending to be her soulmate and making a giant scene to make the creep that wouldn’t leave her alone go away because no matter how much she wanted to, jumping over the counter and ripping out his throat wasn’t worth getting fired.” 

“That’s the one,” Stiles muttered. 

“What could she have possibly done between now and then? Did she send you and Scott pizza?” Erica asked, still keeping her arm around Stiles as the line inched forward. 

“I find it funny you still refer to us as  _ just ‘me and Scott’  _ and no.” 

“Did she buy you a new laptop?” 

“Why is  _ pizza  _ at the same significance level as  _ expensive electronics?”  _

“Because to you it  _ is?”  _ Erica countered, raising one sharp eyebrow, she’d probably been taking lessons from Derek-- _ ugh Derek why can’t you get your perfect self out of my head for five seconds you ass. _

“Okay it’s only  _ kind of  _ on the same level, pizza is  _ much more  _ important though in some scenarios, but again, no.” 

“Then what?” 

Stiles lifted his phone, swiping it open and turning it towards Erica. It was already open to the photo--that was safely saved to his drive and phone and SD card and he’d have it on a usb once he got to work. 

Erica’s arm slid off his shoulders and she gaped. 

“Oh my  _ god!  _ You owe  _ her  _ now!” 

Stiles squawked, “Would you  _ shush!”  _ his head spun around the crowded caffeine-doling establishment. Only like four people looked at them. Most probably remembered him from yesterday. 

They'd all gone nose-blind to Stiles and his antics. 

Stiles firmly placed his arm in from of Erica as the blonde tried to subtilty  _ cut  _ him. Erica was already going to hell so Stiles supposed it didn't really matter to her but  _ honestly _ . 

Erica was Stiles’ best work buddy--not necessarily by choice but that didn’t make it less true. She was Laura's assistant and Stiles was eighty percent certain she'd be hired solely on her taste in lipstick shades. 

Stiles has always been terrified by girls--especially weres--who have a preference for red lipstick, it's like they want to make it look like they drink the blood of their enemies. Or better yet,  _ hide  _ that they  _ actually do _ drink the blood of their enemies. 

It's a sound theory, once he's spent many-a night looking into. 

The line inched up and he and Erica took up that precious little bit of space. 

“So, I take it you've had an amazing morning, hence the new wallpaper,” Erica chirped. 

“It is  _ not  _ my friggin’ wallpaper!” 

“But you’ve updated his contact picture haven’t you?” 

“From the blurry picture of him snarling  _ ‘Stiles put the camera down!’”-- _ it should be noted that he said that line in a deep voice, Tarzan-ing his arms out by his sides-- “Of course I have!” 

By this point the two of them had almost reached the counter. Stiles could  _ just  _ see the top of Cora’s head and the dumb green visor she was forced to wear and the rage from earlier rose up inside him once more. 

His emotions were like a phoenix: When you thought the old bastard had finally died it came back in an  _ explosion  _ of fire and ash only to bite you in the ass all over again. 

When they got to the counter Cora was  _ not  _ looking like she was about to shart herself in fear and Stiles was about to  _ fix that,  _ dammit. 

“I want whatever drink it is that you hate the  _ most _ ,” Stiles hissed, slipping his gift card out of his wallet and across the counter as he pronounced the ‘ _ ssstt’. _

“Ohh, snippy, didn't you get my text?” Cora asked. 

“He did but he must not have had time to jerk off to it yet,” Erica said. 

“ _ ERICA NO--!”  _ Stiles felt his heart palpitate at the same time Cora's face did frown acrobatics and she shouted “ _ EW GROSS!”  _

“I am not  _ gross, _ I am full of twinky sex appeal you tasteless  _ cretin,”  _ Stiles snapped back once he'd recovered. 

Then he _gasped_ as he looked at the little price-screen and saw that the drink Cora just ordered him was _thirteen-thirty-two_ _plus tax_.  

“I didn't mean to buy the  _ store!”  _ he said. 

“I gave you extra caramel,” Cora said with a shrug as she handed him back his gift card and started to obviously write out  _ ‘twit’  _ on his cup. 

“ _ I gave you extra caramel-nayh-na-neu. I only look angry all the time because I'm constipated, I straighten my hair by glaring at it in the mirror every morning, ewwhhh!”  _

Mornings were truly cruel. 

⇶⇶⇶⇶⇶

Stiles kinda loved his job. He'd always dreamed of being some sunglasses-wearing, Neo-dressing FBI agent who could flash a badge and go anywhere he wanted. 

But  _ ohhh  _ being a reporter for Hale Publishing ™ and that moment when Laura first handed him a press-pass… that was pretty sweet too. 

_ And  _ he got to wear flannel over a tee shirt with a  _ periodic bacon pun.  _

He was livin’ the good life. 

His cubicle--which he didn’t actually spend  _ that _ much time in because his life was awesome--was somewhat lived in. He had a bobble head boston terrier for a desk toy, a gift from Lydia with a note that simply said  _ ‘I saw it and thought of you’  _ and Stiles’ inferred that she’d referred to the slightly  _ manic  _ look in its eyes. One foam-core wall was covered in an array of sticky notes full of things he hadn’t done, and then he had his laptop. There’d  _ been  _ a desktop in it when he first got there, but after three weeks of Stiles just using the desk for nothing but a footrest and sitting his laptop in his lap to work Laura had wised up and sent the other computer off to where it could be of more use. 

Stiles knew that the moment he connected to office wifi that his boss could see every little random-ass thing he googled and could question his sanity all she like, but having his own computer gave Stiles a nice false sense of security. 

But he wasn’t going to set up shop in his tiny office space for very long. He was only there to check in with Laura, pick up a spare notepad and then he was off to do some  _ reporting!   _

_ Then  _ around four-thirty he had to drag his ass back from fun interviews to go actually write and  _ edit  _ and  _ ughggh writing is gross I chose a terrible life profession.  _

But it was currently nine-o’-seven! So he had  _ hours  _ to ignore all that necessary stuff. 

And so, with notepad picked up, and making sure that this time he didn’t pick up the Dora one he’d gotten from Erica, he went to Laura’s office. 

⇶⇶⇶⇶⇶

**Actually Two Months Ago:**

Walking towards his boss’ office was  _ petrifying.  _ It was nothing like seeing his boring-ass life flash before his eyes when Cora--who he now knew was a  _ ditsy little college senior awwhh-- _ had almost run over him last week but  _ jeeez  _ this wasn’t a fun feeling. 

He was  _ already  _ asking his boss for a favor and Stiles had barely been there a month. Had it been a month? He didn’t even know because it had been such a  _ short  _ amount of time. 

Only there a month and he was asking for more money! What the hell Stilinski!! 

Or, well, he was just asking for more stories. H _ eck _ , he’d write about the latest lip gloss trends or something  _ truly  _ disgusting like new workout methodology when he himself was a walking noodle who didn’t know a jump rope form a dumbbell. 

But, well, he needed it. Scott had come home with Allison holding his hand and his head down, guiltily admitting to Stiles that he’d been fired. He was  _ guilty  _ that his boss decided to hire his nephew with zero job experience and let him go. Jesus. It had been like watching an ASPCA commercial times  _ twelve.  _

He and Scott needed to make rent this month. 

So! He was walking into his boss’ office! And was  _ probably  _ about to die! 

Stiles knocked on the door, holding his breath for the  _ ‘come in’  _ or  _ ‘you may enter’  _ or whatever it was that Laura said. 

Instead the door was whipped open by Erica. The scary-both-in-hotness-and-personality secretary that sometimes looked at him like he was a shish kabob. She was wearing a black pencil skirt, big heels, a blood red button up blouse with the top three buttons forgotten and there was a leather jacket hanging off the chair at her desk right outside of Ms. Hale’s office.  

Stiles let out a little  _ meep  _ sound that was completely out of his control. 

“Stiles!” Erica said cheerily, and oh my  _ god  _ that was going to be in his nightmares, “Laura’s got a meeting in half an hour or so but I’m sure she’d be happy to see you now,” she said as red-nailed fingers pushed on his chest to gently more him out of her way. 

“Uh--cool, I mean thank you--yeah,” Stiles said,  _ always the smooth-meister  _ his brain whispered. 

Erica practically  _ sashayed  _ back to her desk, taking up her usual position of legs crossed, lips puffed out, and nail file in hand. 

Meanwhile Stiles was just awkwardly standing in front of the open door to Ms. Hale’s office. 

“Stiles?” came her voice from inside, “Do you need to speak with me?” 

Stiles turned away from Erica and looked inside to see Laura Hale.  _ The  _ number-one  _ most  _ intimidating woman he’d ever seen. Lydia had gotten offended but then Stiles had googled a picture of her and Lydia had then proceeded to fall instantly in love with Stiles’ boss despite having never met her. 

Laura Hale was tall, her dark hair rivling her sister’s with its perfect straightness and the way it never  _ ever  _ got frizzy, her features were sharp, cheekbones that would probably make even Allison cry and green eyes that floored  _ everybody.  _

Take that and put it in a pantsuit that Stiles would probably have to take out a reverse mortgage on to afford? 

And you’ve got yourself some kinda deity. 

Which is why Stiles was shaking in his bogo-vans that he’d gotten after buying a pair for Scott. McDang they needed money. 

“Yes?” Stiles managed to make his throat croak, “Uh, can I come in?” 

“Of course,” Ms. Hale said, giving him a comfortable smile and gesturing towards one of the two chairs she had in front of her giant red-wood desk and was awesome and contrasted with her eyes.  _ Although sometimes it matches  _ he reminded himself. 

Stiles scrambled through the door and into one of the seats. It rocked a bit but he stamped his feet on the ground to keep it from doing anything unruly. 

Ms. Hale laid her forearms on her desk, laptop off to the side so that she could speak with Stiles, and interlaced her fingers like some casual supervillain. Stiles had the sudden realization that this was when he was supposed to start talking, so he leaned back in his chair, giving off a false sense of casualness, letting his hands  _ slowly  _ rise instead of just flailing them around. 

He was  _ too  _ good at talking, though, so this is what happened: 

“So uh, hi Ms. Hale, boss, chief, head-honcho! Oh god… um. Basically, I was wondering if I could have some more stories? And not any like-high profile things, I just got here I know that and that would be pretty darn  _ not good  _ of me to ask for top notch stuff, I’m literally saying I’ll just take more stories, anything honestly-or well, something someone would want to  _ read about  _ obviously but I know that I’m in no position to do something like I don’t even know honestly. And I can’t ask for a raise ‘cause that’s just shitty of me--oh  _ god  _ I just swore in front of my boss and I haven’t even been here a month. I’m so  _ sorry--”  _

“Stiles.” Ms. Hale clipped out, her voice a bit lower than normal and her eyes less forest-y green and  _ that  _ shut Stiles up. He smacked his hands down onto his thighs and he could already feel his face burning. 

“Why do you want more  stories?” she asked. 

“To...mghklrnnt… make my rent,” Stiles said quietly, “I know you probably don’t wanna hear my sob story but last night my roommate got fired and he’s looking for another parlor but we don’t know about this month and we kinda wanna eat so it would just be for this month! I forgot to mention that I don’t want more stories for forever, just until he gets a new job and hazzah!” 

“What does your roommate do for a living?” Ms. Hale asked and… that was a weird question, but it wasn’t flat out rejection. So yay? 

“He’s a… tattoo artist?” 

“Are you asking me or telling?” 

Oh  _ shit  _ big ol’ dad flashback right there, “Telling,” Stiles said, subconsciously strightenting in his seat. 

“Let me make a call,” Ms. Hale said, holding up a finger and pulling out her cell instead of picking up the phone on her desk. 

Stiles sat there awkwardly, faintly hearing the sound of the phone’s ring. And suddenly Stiles watched and Ms. Hale  _ changed.  _

She turned in her swivel office chair, a smile working its way onto her face as she leaned back and looked out one of the windows of her office. She looked  _ at home  _ instead of all stiff and workmanlike. As if she was actually talking to someone she liked and not the new-guy who didn't know when to shut up and wore shirts with mathematical puns. 

“Hey, baby bro, I think the universe is working some magic for you today…” 

⇶⇶⇶⇶⇶

Stiles was just trying to have a calm lunch break. And to him jaywalking with a  burrito was exactly that. But  _ no. _

His phone was burning a hole in his front right pocket and  _ not  _ just because he'd left it out on a window sill again. No, it was because of that  _ fucking photo.  _ Of  _ goddamn  _ Derek. The plastic bag of fried goodness from the food truck run by an old guy named Miguel only a block away from the parlor methodically banged against his thigh as he walked. 

Cars honked around him and the buildings in this part of town were distinctly less tall and imposing than the buildings around Hale Publishing were. They were far from  _ cruddy  _ but most definitely had more old brick and chipped paint than smooth concrete and shimmering glass.

Stiles remembered the first time he'd jaywalked across this street and towards the old, small brick building with only two stories and a small, red neon sign over the door that said  **_Alpha Ink_ **  in curly yet  _ intimidating  _ font. 

It had been a  _ busy  _ day… 

⇶⇶⇶⇶⇶

**Back Again to Two Months Ago:**

“Scott, buddy, I don't understand it, you want me here for moral support but you  _ don't  _ want me to hold your hand? You can pick and choose buddy, either you  _ let me  _ not give a shit or I'm forced to mother hen you.  _ Your choice,”  _ Stiles said as he and Scott waited by the curb for the cars to clear up long enough for them to cross.

Scott made an indignant noise, running a hand through his recently cut hair. It was closer on the sides than ever before and he was wearing a black tank top despite it being  _ downright nippy  _ outside that particular morning. Stiles himself was in one of his softest and most garish shade of red hoodies. And yes, he had multiple. 

“I just…  _ you're  _ the one that got me the interview. If I show up alone how are they gonna know I'm not some psycho off the street?” Scott said, gesturing a hand to the hole-in-the-wall-ish tattoo parlor across the street. 

“Uhh? How 'bout the fact that it's run by half of my boss’  _ pack,  _ thus has a bunch of werewolves inside that can hear that you aren't lying,” Stiles reminded him. 

Scott's shoulders relaxed for a  _ second _ but he was a stubborn bastard, so if he wanted to be overly concerned then he'd  _ rationalize  _ why he  _ should be overly concerned  _ until either his teeth fell out or Stiles’ ears fell off. 

“But they still don’t  _ know  _ me and I only have two years of experience with were-tats, I just--” 

“You’re  _ great  _ with a blowtorch buddy, why do you think Chris let  _ you  _ finish up the c rème brûlée last Christmas? And I gotta tell you, it was pretty insulting seeing as how I’m not even  _ allowed  _ in the kitchen just because I’m a bit messy. It’s necessary in order to have the full cooking experience! You’ve had my baked spaghetti you  _ know  _ what I’m talking about. It's the means to an end.” 

Scott just looked at him in that equally loving and confused way that he only had for Stiles. Then nodded his head towards the road. Stiles jerked to look over and see that the road was in fact clear-ish. 

Scott casually walked across the street, his wolfy-sense guiding him from on coming danger. 

Then there was Stiles, who was  _ not  _ able to Andrew-Garfield-in-The-Amazing-Spider-Man-Two his way across the road. So he just kinda ran. Stiles had only recently shaken the habit of turning his head left and right  _ while  _ crossing the street. Ya see, when he was a small boy his then-deputy father had tried to teach him to look both ways before crossing the street. Only he left out the  _ before _ , thus as a child Stiles would basically shake his head from side to side whenever he crossed a road. 

_ Honestly,  _ how was he  _ alive  _ right now? 

Once they were in front of the little--though charming and clean--tattoo parlor Scott froze again. Because of course. He liked to do that. 

“Scotty, you’ve just gotta walk in. It’ll be  _ fine _ , I gave you a  _ glowing  _ recommendation when Laura was talking to her brother, I told her how it all started with a sharpie and doodling on your arms during history instead of writing cheat notes like any sane person would.” 

“You told them I wasn’t  _ sane?”  _ Scott gaped. And  _ shit,  _ he was in everything-is-literal-mode. 

“ _ Scotttttt,”  _ Stiles started off slowly, taking both of his BFF’s shoulders in hand and turning Scott to face him, “I did not tell them you were insane, I was just being melodramatic like always, alright? I told them you were talented and dedicated and sweet.” 

“Did you tell them about the pack thing?” Scott asked, and Stiles couldn’t tell if Scott wanted him to say yes or no. 

“No… that’s for you to say, but it’ll be  _ fine,  _ I swear,” Stiles gripped Scott’s shoulders a bit tighter, turned him back to the front of the shop and let go. 

They both looked at the shop’s big window that showed a little waiting room only to see a tall blonde guy with a broom staring back at them. 

“Uhhh… we should go in now,” Stiles muttered. 

“Yeah,” Scott said, embarrassment at getting caught in a bro-moment outweighing his previous nerves. 

There was a tiny bell on the top of the door parlor and it’s cute little chime when Stiles pushed it open was in this weird dead zone between charming as hell and annoying as shit. 

But little bell sounds were not what Stiles focused on as he walked in the door. It was the fact that this place was  _ badass.  _

The tiny entryway led on in two directions, one towards a waiting room with low, black leather couches and a glass coffee table with the front desk to one side of it. Past the desk and further into the shop was a dark hallway that probably led to some small offices. 

The walls were  _ drowning  _ in pictures. All in miss matched frames that held photos, sketches, watercolors, paintings… things that Stiles had to limited knowledge of art to recognize--no wait that was a collage! The pictures brightened up the otherwise dark space with dark red walls and white and black checked floor tiles. 

The lanky guy from the window was still there, broom in hand. He didn’t look all that tattoo-artist-y. Yes, that was a big green hoodie, and Scott looked like a chocolate lab sometimes, but his best friend also had ink all over. 

Scott was most proud of his arms, his right one especially was covered in twisting black lines of vines and geometric patterns, weird little trinkets, almost like a charm bracelet--but y'know manlier--on his skin. 

“Yo,” Stiles said awkwardly to broom-man. 

The guy just raised an eyebrow, eyes still on them, they were blue by the way, in case anybody cared. 

“Derek!” he called, not even turning his head away from them as he yelled. 

Standoffish was too kind a word for Mr. Curly over here. 

“Well nice to meet you too,” Stiles snarked, earning himself a glare from Scott, “I'm Stiles, this is Scott. Scott's here for an interview, annnnd I'm here because all I've ever wanted since I was a little girl was a Hello Kitty tramp stamp.” 

The guy didn't even  _ smile _ . 

“Are we talking full body or just the logo?” a voice rang from down that little hallway. 

Stiles turned his head and  _ hot fuck. _

There was a  _ Greek god  _ in their presence and  _ nobody  _ seemed to be internally freaking out about it. 

Except Stiles. All wrapped up into one hot second of internal combustion he  _ freaked out about it.  _

He was tall, muscled--as in Dorito-level shoulder to waist proportions muscled--, with dark hair and a beard that looked like it'd been trimmed by fairies.

His  _ face, _ though, oh  _ sweet pineapple under the sea  _ it was  _ gorgeous _ . Stiles thought Laura Hale got all the good cheekbone genes, turns out she'd been  _ robbed blind.  _

His face was all sharp angles, accentuated by dark facial hair that danced the line between solid stubble and full-on mountain man like a ballerina. His eyebrows were dark and would've been the entire focus of his face if his fucking  _ face  _ wasn't already so pretty. 

His eyes were… they were a mix of… of like a… Stiles didn't know but he spotted green and grey and brown and blue and  _ ugh _ . 

He had on a blue-grey Henley, the sleeves rolled up on his forearms, a couple buttons casually undone and black jeans coupled with a large, plain leather belt with a square buckle. 

There were also heavy boots and forearms--and the left one was covered in black, twisting, celtic(?) looking lines--and  _ biceps  _ involved and to sum up… 

He was walking perfection?? 

And keep in mind!  _ All that  _ had to be processed by Stiles’ brain in about a  _ second  _ before he remembered that this hunk also thought he was here to get himself stuck with needles in places they  _ never  _ needed to be. 

“Full body. And I should mention it was either that or Buttercup but my friend Jackson won't agree to get matching Bubbles even though my  _ other  _ friend Lydia would be my Blossom in a minute given the correct bribe.” 

He really wasn't helping his case, Stiles realized as he casually put his hands on his hips. 

The room was silent and  _ ohmygod _ …

“All three of you are probably weres you should totally know that I'm not being serious right now!” Stiles exclaimed. He could never stand a silent room. Ever.

Luckily Scott came to his rescue, placing a hand on Stiles’ should and introducing themselves once again. Even though this guy  _ obviously heard _ the first time. 

 

“I'm Scott McCall, this is Stiles Stilinski, I'm here for the interview and Stiles was just here to help me out, he's the guy who works with your alpha.” 

Stiles held out his hand towards Derek, but the other man just stared at it blankly. Stiles mentally went  _ 'okie dokie then’  _ as he awkwardly redirected his hand and ran it nervously through his hair.

“Wow, she really wasn't lying,” the-swiffer-picker-upper commented. 

But before Stiles could squawk out a  _ 'what does that mean?’  _ Adonis started speaking. 

“I'm Derek Hale, I own this place. If you'll just follow me I'll ask you some questions.” 

His voice was so…  _ gentle what the hell.  _

Stiles seriously,  _ seriously _ hoped Scott got this job. 

⇶⇶⇶⇶⇶

“Dude, as much as I love you, and I do, you can't keep visiting me at work,” Scott said from his usual position at the parlor during his lunch break, hunched over his sketchbook. His rice bowl beside him, long forgotten and emptied.

“What? Why?” Stiles sputtered. They were currently back in Scott's office-ishy thing. With Scott at his desk and Stiles sitting in the extra chair in the room. He didn't like sitting in the tattoo chair. Considering it doubled for weres there were a lot of restraints on it. And so it looked like something from Saw.

“For your  _ health  _ dude,” Scott explained, actually looking from his sketch, “I can't have you fainting every time I have a customer, your support is great but as soon as you hear needle buzzing or someone yelp you're out.” 

“I think the benefits outweigh the hardships, Scotty.” 

Scott sent him a tired look. 

“No amount of staring at my boss is worth another concussion.” 

“I  _ sincerely  _ doubt that!” Stiles wagged a finger at him. 

“Sti, it  _ really  _ isn't, you know Derek's a waiting for the touch kinda guy,” Scott pleaded. 

“Yeah, only Derek and I haven't touched yet.” 

Scott dropped his pen. 

“What?” 

⇶⇶⇶⇶⇶

**A** **_little_ ** **less than Two Months Ago:**

Scott had only been working at A-I (Stiles’  _ fantastic  _ nickname for  **_Alpha Ink_ ** ) for two days when he and Isaac first touched. 

It had been by complete happenstance. According to Scott he'd told Isaac the day before that he already has Allison, so there was no need to be cautious. 

Stiles had not witnessed Scott's and Allison's bonding, but the story was pretty fairy tale like. 

They'd been on their third date, already crazy about each other and while Scott walked Allison back to her apartment, she'd taken his hand. Scott said he'd felt it instantly, felt the warm comforting tingle that solidified into a burning comfort throughout his entire body as Allison's grip tightened on his hand. He’d said he’d  _ known  _ even before they touched too. 

They hadn't let go of each other for three hours, giving them about two and a half days apart before they needed their next touch. 

But they'd only stayed apart for about nine hours if Stiles remembered correctly.

Stiles had been there for Scott and Isaac through, it was his first time dropping off lunch for his best friend. 

He'd seen out of the corner of his eye that Isaac--who was more the shop’s clerk, his domain was the front desk but he still had good design input--had leaned over Scott's shoulder to look at the sketch book in front of the other man. Scott was seated on the floor, cross legged at the little glass coffee table. Isaac had set his arm on the table as he crouched, thumb brushing Scott's forearm.

Stiles had been on one of the low sofas, completely oblivious and too wrapped up in his burger until Isaac jumped away as if burned, then dropped to the floor. 

The entire thing was mostly a blur to Stiles. 

All he really remembered was Scott, looking the most confused and guilty he'd ever been, racing to clutch Isaac's hand and chanting, ‘I _ ’m sorry, I didn't know’. _

⇶⇶⇶⇶⇶

Stiles walked out of Scott's office-area-place contemplating life. 

Or more specifically: soulbonds.

Or  _ more  _ specifically: Derek Hale.

Kinda hard not to when the guy was sitting in the currently empty mini-lobby, stretched out on that low leather sofa right under the window, tablet in front of him forgotten as he stared out aimlessly at the now slightly-cloudy afternoon.

Stiles paused at the end of the hallway to the back, hoping that Derek was too out of focus to notice he had left Scott's spot. (Scott's stall? Scott's personal torture chamber?) 

Derek was one of the textbook no-touchie types. Those who are all:  _ I’m not taking any chances of getting stuck with your sorry ass so back it up.  _ Which was understandable. 

Stiles didn’t really see himself as one of those  _ clingy  _ people and  _ certainly  _ didn’t touch anybody skin to skin unless they were okay with it, but he certainly was tactile. He and most of his friends touched and hugged and Stiles had countless data for the idea that Lydia Martin was the best cuddler ever. 

So it was… weird that even after knowing Derek for two months, of Stiles being a nuisance when he and Scott and Isaac were trying to have a lunch break, of coming to a few pack nights because Scott had said on no-uncertain-terms that Stiles would come with him if he ended up following Isaac into the Hale clan, of Stiles trying for high-fives or fist bumps and getting growled at after a sarcastic pat-on-the-back that Derek still gave him a wide berth. 

Or maybe it was  _ because?  _

_ And  _ just at that moment Derek's head turned to look directly at him. 

“Can I help you?” he asked.

_ Yeah, stop being so hot please.  _

“Yeah, just wondering if you'd explain to me again why you even have a business.”

Derek gave him what could be called an  _ incredulous  _ look. But in reality all it was was a small up-tilt of his eyebrows.

And it was so fucking  _ endearing  _ and  _ dammit. _

“People like tattoos,” Derek said before turning back to his tablet,  “And I'm good at them.” 

“Yeah but there's still hena. And that doesn't involve  _ pain.”  _

“It isn't that bad.” 

“I beg to differ.” 

“Do you have tattoos?” 

“Are you  _ insane _ ?” 

“Then how can you assume it's that bad?” 

“Because it's a  _ needle  _ in your  _ skin!”  _ This was… obvious. 

Derek huffed, just a small exhale of air through his nose. Was it a laugh? Was he trying to hold himself back from strangling Stiles? Who the fuck knew. 

“Some people think the sentiment is worth the pain.” 

“And the idiots who want Sonic flipping people off on their ass?” Stiles asked. And it was  _ really sad  _ how legitimate of a question that was. 

Derek gave him another weird look. Stiles just took it as an invitation to sit on the sofa to the left of the window one. 

“See? Some brain dead individuals go through physical pain only to then have psychological. It makes no sense to me and I can't understand--” 

Derek silently lifted the tablet in his lap up and turned it to face Stiles. 

The screen was covered in delicate black lines… the entire image curved and twisted there were leaves and stars--some of them twisted into almost celtic (Or, probably not almost considering Derek’s love for them, seeing as how the entire sleeve on his right arm and hand was made up of twisting, classical knots) looking designs--and even on the small device Stiles could tell the image was  _ massive.  _

At the very center were two objects, a candle, then utop it was the Hale insignia. 

“Wha--?” Stiles was, quite honestly, floored, “What is that?” 

“A tattoo,” was all Derek said before setting the tablet back in his lap, stiles slowly moving across the screen. He drew with his right hand, which didn’t seem to have a single source on it, unlike the left that gently held the top of the tablet that was riddled with lines. 

“Uh, yeah, but? Where is it--who?” 

“It's a back tattoo, it's designed to cover up scarring.” 

“Wait--like--an  _ entire  _ back? A  _ whole  _ dang back?” 

Derek shrugged, “Upper back, park of the shoulder, a little of her neck.”

“There's no color… is it a were tat?” 

Derek nodded, biting the corner of his lip as he grew more engrossed with his drawing.

“You're gonna take a blowtorch to someone's  _ entire back?”  _ Stiles asked.

“They'd be burns of choice this time around. And it’ll be a small blow torch.” 

_ Well that was cryptic,  _ Stiles thought. 

Stiles sat back in the sofa, the silence hanging around like a ba smell--like that forgotten Tupperware of ravioli he'd found a few months ago that he'd thought the green was just parsley. 

Okay he needed to talk before he killed himself with his own brain. 

“Do I didn't take you for a techy guy, more like you'd try the parchment quill approach,” Stiles blurted, gesturing towards Derek's snazzy little tablet. 

“It wasn't my idea,” Derek said, sounding three percent more grumpy now, “My uncle said I needed to  _ 'get out of the stone age’ _ .” 

“It's probably the beard,” Stiles said without thinking--although that was nothing  _ new _ , it just so happened that this was one of the worser instances of that. 

“What about my beard?” Derek asked, his head snapping up to look at Stiles with his  _ pretty, pretty  _ eyes. 

“Ohh, just all beards have the caveman vibe--not that you look uncivilized or anything you seem to take very good care of it, I'm just saying that uh--well I don't know what I'm saying because I honestly never do.” 

Derek did that  _ deliberate exhale through nose  _ again before turning back to her amazing sketch. He didn't say anything in response and Stiles had kinda sorta learned that that meant Derek was done talking. 

Conversation  _ over.  _

_ Time to stop staring, stand up and say g’bye now Stiles.  _

It was difficult but he did it, he awkwardly stood and gave Derek a quick wave. Isaac wasn't at his desk so there was no need to say goodbye to him, even if all that would result in was mutual flippings of the bird. 

Then Stiles scurried out the door of  _ A-I  _ hoping that the obvious hots he had for one Derek Hale weren't as apparent to  _ one Derek Hale _ . 

Because it was  _ honestly so pointless _ , even if he and Derek hadn't touched yet. And probably never would.

Of course, he could understand why Derek was weary, even having the smallest of chances of getting stuck with his never ever shuts up, ADHD, skinny ass--even if it was just for a few months--would be scary to  _ anyone _ . Stiles got that. 

Didn’t stop him from day dreaming the  _ fuck  _ out of the possibilities. 

Even if they were only nine in all-the-people-in-the-entire-world. Wikipedia had told him so.  

There’s no way Derek was one of those nine possibilities. Stiles had already used one of them up when he was little. So that meant he only had eight left. 

The odds were microscopic at best. 

In fact, finding  _ anybody  _ again would be nice. Even if it wasn’t Derek fucking Hale. 

So Stiles ignored the stuff Scott told him about how he’d _ known  _ Allison was his soulmate after their first date, and how he couldn’t get Isaac out of his mind even when he went home after that interview.

So what if some studies showed that being near one’s soulmate had similar but much weaker effects as skin on skin contact? So what if it had a name and was under further research. “” _ Phantom touch””  _ wasn’t a thing.

Wikipedia was full of  _ lies.  _

⇶⇶⇶⇶⇶

Getting called into Laura’s office and staring at Laura’s just-as-pretty-as-her-brother’s face was not the most amazing way for Stiles to forget about the awkward encounter from lunch. 

Or, well, there had been worse ones, he had to admit that much to himself. He’d just never had that much of a creepy need to  _ not leave  _ before. 

He wasn’t  _ that  _ lonely. 

Or he didn’t  _ think  _ he was? 

“So Stiles,” Laura started, gently closing her laptop after he’d loudly plopped down into one of the chairs at her desk. 

“Yes, boss?” Stiles asked, leaning back and resting his right ankle over his left knee. 

“I don’t think I complimented your shirt earlier,” she started off with, gesturing to the garish thing in both color and content. 

“Oh no, what is it?” Stiles asked, “You don’t compliment my clothing unless it’s bad. Are you sending me to Alaska?” he gasped, putting a hand to his chest. 

Stiles was  _ impressed  _ his boss managed to resist what must’ve been the desperate need to eyeroll. 

“I’m not sending you anywhere Stiles,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her on her desk, “In fact I have good news.” 

Stiles perked up at that. 

“Your first big story, actually, if you play your cards right,” she continued, “It might not look like much at first glance, but here me out.” 

“Okay…” Stiles said slowly, “You’ve peaked my interest.” 

“A pinwheel, sticker, or odd mug could do that Stiles, I need you to listen to me.” 

Stiles squirmed a bit, “Wow, tell me how you  _ really  _ feel.” 

“I feel that you’re a bright, talented writer that could make this story not sound like the sap-fest it is but the important break through it  _ also  _ is,” Laura said bluntly. These Hales were always so  _ blunt,  _ no concern of if they got people flustered to death or not. 

“Okay that was too real,” Stiles just let it slip out, because how could he not? “So what is this magical story?” 

“It’s about soulbond and h--” and that was as far as she got before Sties flipped his shit.

“OHHHH NOOO!!” Stiles exclaimed in a fit of flails, “NO NO NO!” he tried to stand up out of his chair, only to forget that his legs were crossed in a weird way so he ended up falling over Laura’s desk. 

“No soulbonds! Oh my  _ god  _ I am not about to write for our teen section!” Stiles yelled into a form Laura had on her desk before he ungracefully untangled his legs and lifted his head, arms still splayed out across her desk in desperation, “I’ll puke too much and die of malnourishment before I even get through the first paragraph…!” he wined, looking up at Laura with what he knew were soulful-honey eyes. His grandma said so. 

“You will not  _ die _ , Stiles,” Laura said, crossing her arms over her chest, “And this is  _ not  _ one of those ‘ _ we had a two week fling and I didn’t know he was the one for another three months and he had already moved back to Ontario’,”  _ Laura clarified, “Now get back in your seat so I can finish.” 

Stiles huffed but clambered back up into the chair regardless. 

“This is a story on new breakthroughs in soulbond resuscitation, or as its less formally known, the Lazarus Bond,” she explained and  _ damn  _ Stiles was suddenly a lot more interested. Cool-ass names tended to do that.

“What… is that?” Stiles asked. 

“It isn’t very well known, at all, mostly because the only circumstances where it’s actually  _ necessary  _ are hard to find,” Laura explained, “Now, you’re not an idiot so you’re well aware that the only known way to break a soulbond is death. Basically a Lazarus Bond only occurs after one of the members of the bond has died and then come back, either through resuscitation, or sadder cases are when the heart is medically induced into stopping for surgery, breaking the bond.” 

Laura glanced away from him for a moment before continuing, “Up until now it was believed that once a bond is broken, it can never be reformed again, so many of those formerly bonded simply must be content with their partner having survived their ordeal and live on minus a bond. But then there was Jeremy and Vanessa Tolmbry, who just last week, three years after Jeremy had heart surgery and their bond was broken, say it has come back. At first no one believed them, but now after having contact almost non stop for the past few days they have separated to prove that it has in fact returned.” 

Okay Stiles was now  _ on board.  _

“Jeremy and Vanessa haven’t been the first, seeing as how this phenomenon wouldn’t have coined its own terminology in under a week. There have been several, it seem, but still too few to find out it  _ all  _ unfortunately severed bonds can ever be re-formed. And  _ that’s  _ your new story. Focus on the Tolmbry’s if you wish, or go find a newer angle. I know that you’re just as good at research as you are writing, and if you get this done right it might end up having prime real estate in the next issue.” 

Stiles was  _ so friggin on board right now!  _

“YES.” was all he managed to say though. 

⇶⇶⇶⇶⇶

**Only** **_One_ ** **Month Ago:**

Stiles’ and Allison’s and Scott’s first pack night was awkward as all shit. 

It was at Laura’s--and he’d only  _ recently  _ been thinking of his boss and  _ ‘Laura’  _ for about two days now--apartment, which she shared with her husband Matt. 

It was really nice. And huge and reeked of kinds of money Stiles couldn't fathom. 

Buying  _ four bags of Cheetos at a time  _ was ultimate, get a reverse mortgage, kinda spending for him after all. 

There weren’t a  _ ton  _ of people there and there were only two that didn’t know. 

But still. 

Awkward. 

Because apart from Allison they were all weres so they could  _ smell  _ how nervous he was. Even Allison could just  _ look at him  _ and see that too, so it wasn't like… that big of a deal… but it still got under his skin. 

Laura had opened the door to them and Scott and Allison had instantly flocked to Isaac who was in the kitchen, they’d found out the day Isaac and Scott had bonded that Allison could bond with the both of them as well. 

They’d been really grabby for the past two week and Isaac had  _ almost  _ moved into the apartment, but Scott still claimed that Isaac and Allison had their own homes so they didn’t need to pay rent. 

Stiles had almost,  _ almost  _ grown numb to all of Scotty boy’s bullshit. 

Cora was there, so Stiles could go torment her, considering Erica was occupied in the living room, sitting in one of the two guys he didn’t know’s lap. He was Boyd, and despite being giant and scary Laura reassured him he was a sweetheart. 

He'd just take her word for it. It was like when someone told him if you pick up a snake by the back of the head it won't bite you, it could very well be true but that didn't mean he was still gonna  _ pick up a fucking snake. _

Stiles had found himself standing awkwardly in the doorway to Laura’s kitchen. Having lost Scott and Allison to their need to make an Isaac sandwich on the sofa, still being too fearful of Boyd and  _ especially  _ Erica to go talk to them, and with Laura busy directing her husband around how to fix their bluray player that was apparently broken while reading off a WikiHow page Stiles was forced to wander. 

And in the kitchen were honestly the last two people he’d expected. 

Cora and Derek. 

Cora was busy attacking whatever liquid was in her pyrex like it owed her money, meanwhile Derek was at the stove, a huge frying pan in front of him and making something that smelled pretty magical. 

“Need any help?” Stiles asked, fiddling with the cuff of his hoodie. He hadn’t know whether or not this was a button-up type of event. Scott had been smart (Read as: Scott had been dressed by Allison) wore one of his denim shirts, so that it both had buttons, but didn’t make him look so much like a dad. And Allison had worn a sweater dress and this was  _ not  _ the first time Stiles wished he had the hips to pull one of those off because they were comfy  _ and  _ ‘formal’! 

But Stiles was an idiot so he had his blue hoodie zipped all the way up to cover his Captain America tee.

_ Derek  _ was looking nice. Because that seemed to be his natural state which was so unfair. Nobody should look that hot without selling their soul to a good brand of concealer each morning. He was in dark wash jeans and a not at all stiff looking grey button up and was just  _ good.  _ As in the damn kind. 

And then there was Cora being all emo in her red skinny jeans and black tank top. And glaring at  _ whatever  _ was in that pyrex like it’d killed her puppy. 

“No,” Cora said instantly. Stiles was pretty sure she would  _ never  _ make him coffee in the mornings without being paid. She probably spat in his drink to begin with, which was understandable. Stiles _ was _ a  _ total  _ jackass. 

“Oookie-dokie,” Stiles said, and honestly had no idea what to do with his hands so one went into his kangaroo pouch and the other leaned itself against the door jam. 

Cora looked up at him and frowned, “You can leave,” she said bluntly. Always the charmer. 

_ Sorry,  _ Stiles mentally replied,  _ put I don’t plan on having a wall obscure my view of your brother’s ass anytime soon. And wow that sounded to fucking gross. Yikes.  _

“I mean? Are you sure? I’m not really doing anything and--” 

“Oh my  _ god  _ this  _ thing  _ was just made to drive people crazy!” 

“Laura, honey! NO don’t tear this one off the wall again!!” 

Suddenly there was a  _ lot  _ of movement as Derek clicked off the stove, set aside his pan and Cora practically threw that  _ poor pyrex  _ across the room.

Stiles realized all too late that he was still standing in the only doorway out of the kitchen as two werewolves--who looked less concerned and more  _ excited(?)-- _ came at him. 

He tried to do this weird spin thing to get away but Cora just rudely shoved past him, while  _ Derek  _ turned on his side and did something arguably  _ much worse.  _

Derek slid past him in the doorway, Stiles thought he might’ve felt one of the buttons of the other man’s soft shirt brust against his chest--a few of those buttons were undone and  _ man  _ he was a goner. Derek’s hand touched his arm as he passed, his hand felt so  _ warm  _ even through the cloth of his hoodie. Stiles got his first up-close and personal view of Derek’s eyes and he was still lost as to how  _ many  _ colors were in them.

Everything around them seemed to freeze in an all too cringy and/or cheesy way. Stiles was fairly certain he was holding his breath as Derek slipped through the doorway, all to careful around him, like he’d break and he gently made room to pass by pushing on Stiles’ arm. 

Stiles’  _ clothed  _ arm and he realized with a big-ol’ helping of horror that he sincerely wished it wasn’t. 

Stiles watched Derek walk away to the living room, too  _ honestly confused by his own brain  _ to care that he was about to see his boss go Ring-Of-Honor on her big fancy television. 

And that he really  _ should  _ be getting his phone out right now if he ever wanted to secure future raises. 

⇶⇶⇶⇶⇶

Stiles contemplated just going back to his apartment after work. He really, seriously, swear to god, honestly did. But he had to tell  _ someone  _ about his new story and it was either go to the parlor even though he  _ knew  _ Scott wasn’t off work yet and get a stern look from Isaac  _ or  _ go to Lydia’s and get yelled at because she’d been on a thesis bender for the last week and a half. 

He seriously hoped she was still alive, or that she’d at least been taking care of her hair. Those beautiful strawberry blonde locks needed  _ care _ , dammit. 

So Stiles was jaywalking his way downtown, walkin’ fast, faces pass and tattoo-parlor bound. 

It wasn't that he needed to see a certain someone… or that he missed anybody… or if he could fall into the sky and… okay he needed to stop. 

He wasn't walking a thousand miles and-- _ dammit!!  _

Honestly, why'd he have to go and make things so complicated--? 

Stiles was doomed as a human being. 

⇶⇶⇶⇶⇶

That little bell rang as Stiles opened the door and he'd long ago decided that he hated its existence. 

Werewolves didn't need a little  _ bell  _ on the door! They could probably hear him coming from down the block, Stiles had unfortunately heavy foot falls. 

He waved to Isaac as he walked in, but the guy was just staring at his phone. What-a-guy.

It didn’t matter though because Stiles was on a direct course for Scott's glorified closet--when a voice stopped him. 

“Scott's with a client, you probably don't wanna go in there.” 

Stiles spun around only to find Derek sitting in the lobby  _ exactly  _ where he left him like five hours ago.

“I told you not to wait up, honey,” Stiles said absently as he sat back onto the sofa on the left wall. Only this time he mirrored Derek, with his back against one armrest and feet over the other. 

Derek just shot him a glare before turning back to his tablet. 

“Seriously, have you even moved? Because if you haven't your butt must be  _ numb _ . Like. It's gone buddy, I'm sorry but there's no saving it, so little blood for so long and--” 

“Yes I've moved, stop talking about my ass.” 

“What? Only used to people writing sonnets about it?” 

Derek's face scrunched up. He stayed silent. 

“Holy shit  _ have _ you had sonnets written about your ass before--??” 

“Why are you here?” Derek cut him off. 

Stiles took a good couple seconds to snicker before responding, “Roses are red, and so is wine, Derek's ass is hella fine--” 

“That isn't a sonnet you shit,” Derek growled, setting his tablet on the coffee table and sitting up. 

“Okay, okay,” Stiles held up his hands to stop him, “No more rhymes about your butt. And I'm here because I wanna tell Scott about a new story I have.” 

“You couldn't do that over text?” Derek asked. 

“You should tell that uncle of yours that you're adjusting to this century really well, and I had another motive for coming,” Stiles said. 

Derek just quirked an eyebrow before grabbing his tablet and settling down into the sofa again. 

“The  _ other  _ reason I’m here is convincing Scott that it is in fact  _ his  _ idea to stop by the Chinese place right down the street so hs has to pay for it.” 

“You're a terrible friend,” Derek said flatly.

“I need  _ nourishment!”  _ Stiles protested.  __

“No, you need to grow up,” Derek corrected. 

Derek turned back to his drawing and silence fell over the waiting room except for the faintest of buzzing he could hear from the back. 

“So…” Stiles started, “How art thou?” 

Derek didn’t answer. 

“Oh c’mon that was the  _ perfect  _ opportunity to call me a nerd, or tell me to shut up or to glare menacingly,” Stiles huffed. But Derek stayed silent. Like,  _ oh my god.  _

“Okay. Fine. I just won’t shut up and  _ trust me  _ you’re going to regret this,” Stiles said, sitting up on the sofa, but still with his feet on the armrest. He took in a  _ deeeep  _ breath before he began. 

“So tell me, is beard-gel a thing because I have little to no experience with facial hair and the one time I tried to grow a beard all my friends avoided me until I shaved but it’s like I  _ know  _ some mustaches can’t defy gravity like they do without chemical help and I haven’t gotten around to googling it because I’m too lazy and too busy watching dumb shit on YouTube. Like Film Theory? Have you seen that? It’s  _ awesome  _ and actually really heartfelt in some episodes and that’s something I was honestly never expecting but here we are and one night I binged like every episode and they're like  _ long  _ for YouTube I’m talking eleven to twenty minutest long, like, you are making a  _ commitment  _ to this video. It will be your  _ life  _ for a bit and MatPat just takes you on this  _ journey  _ and it’s alway fun and so because of that I haven’t gotten around to googling beard-gel so I thought I’d ask someone who knows their way around a avoiding a razor--” 

Derek almost  _ slammed   _ his tablet on the coffee table, “Dear  _ shit  _ how did you not  _ suffocate? _ ”  

“I  _ told you  _ you’d regret it,” Stiles said, trying to keep his breathing even as he settled  back down into the sofa. Derek looked over at him, then wearily at his tablet, luckily neither it or the table were cracked in his outburst. 

Derek just shook his head, “I honestly don’t know how you sleep at night, having no one to talk to for eight hours.” 

“Pfft, I find it funny you think I get eight hours of sleep,” Stiles snarked, he playfully kicked Derek’s booted foot with his own dirty old chucks. 

Derek stiffened.   

“Oh my god Derek,” Stiles gaped at him, “There’s literally four layers of shoe-stuff between us, it’s not a big deal.” 

“For you, maybe,” Derek grumbled. And  _ wow  _ Stiles actually felt offended now. It was one thing for his  _ brain  _ to tell him that Derek hated that there was even the smallest chance they could bond, but for the fucker to actually  _ imply it…!!  _

“Well, fuck you, buddy,” Stiles said. Derek’s head turned to his, his eyebrows make a  _ ‘confused’  _ tilt, “Y’know I really didn’t think I was  _ so  _ annoying that you can’t even--” 

“Stiles, are you actually an idiot?” Derek asked, tilting his head--it was cute and it only made Stiles more offended-- “I’m a were, if something  _ were  _ to happen then I’d pretty sure you’d be the one out of your element.” 

Stiles made an indignant squawk in his throat, “I literally live with two weres, and two of my three closest friends are humans bonded to weres--And this doesn’t even  _ matter  _ because dude the actual odds of anything happening are microscopic and you need to chill.” 

By now both of them were sitting properly on their respective couches and glaring at each other. 

“Stiles, it’s not that simple--” 

“We’ve known each other two  _ months  _ dude--” 

“Don’t call me dude.” 

“And you haven’t touched me because you’re afraid you might be my soulmate and vise versa but  _ buddy,  _ I  _ assure you  _ that my odds of finding a bond are even smaller than most, so you’ve  _ really  _ gotta get your head out of your ass and realize that this is pointless,” Stiles was waving his arms around now.

“Why is this so important to you?” Derek asked. 

“Because I wanna be your  _ friend!  _ Because your sister is my boss and you’re the boss of my best friend/roommate and Scott’s gonna probably join your pack soon and one of my best friends is kinda sorta your cousin because her dad is dating your uncle and our lives are like  _ so jammed together  _ that avoiding each other is impossible so we should just get it over with and you should fist bump me and realize all your worries were for not,” Stiles held out his closed fist expectantly. 

“A fist bump?” was all Derek had to say to his little speech, “Also Allison is Chris’ daughter?” 

Stiles threw his hands up again, “That’s  _ all  _ you got from that? Well that teaches  _ me  _ never to spill my heart out to you again,” Stiles flumpped back into the sofa dramatically, his head softly hitting one of the photos of a cool eagle tattooed on a guy’s collarbone. He heard Derek do his little  _ almost laugh  _ again. 

“Alright, fine--” 

And  _ right  _ at that exact moment a door from the back creaked open. 

And the shrillest sound Stiles had ever heard echoed across the entire parlor. 

“I  _ loooove  _ it!” 

Scott was following a  _ really  _ friggin short lady out into the waiting room, beaming at the squeaky--although very kind--praise. 

The woman was holding up the hem of her green tee shirt, too busy staring at the admittedly  _ awesome  _ new tattoo by her hip. Even through the plastic Stiles could see a bright orange starfish, with artsy streaks of blue and green with a few barnacles around it. It was bright and fun and exactly what Scott was best at. 

Scott never really told anyone but Stiles knew he was disappointed that weres couldn’t get color tattoos, what with no actual ink being involved. 

But Scott looked  _ really  _ proud at the moment, and he  _ should be.  _

“That looks sweet!!” Stiles said as he scrambled up off the couch, Scott beamed at him and the woman said a really obnoxious  _ ‘I! KNOWW!’  _ but the happy kind as she went to both pay and show Isaac the bright, new, marine part of her body. And the jackass got off his phone for  _ her. Yeesh.  _

“So Scotty,” Stiles said, stepping up to his bestie and throwing an arm over his shoulders, “I’m hungry? Are you hungry? Do you want food? Food of a certain nationality that’s not even a block away with  _ heavenly  _ crab rangoon? Because I think you do.” 

“Doesn’t she look happy?” Scott said absently as he watched the downright  _ gleeful  _ woman finish paying. Stiles sighed and slipped his arm off Scott when the customer rushed over to him and managed to give him a hug without her sensitive new ink making anything a problem. Then she basically skipped out the door, her tee shirt almost over her head, he was surprised she didn’t cut that bottom half of it off. They had scissors at Isaac’s desk, after all. 

“She’s extremely happy Scott,” Stiles said, because all of Scott’s customers were always happy and loved Scott and loved  **_Alpha Ink_ ** in general because the artists were both talented and sucked the pain away if it got too bad for some people. Although according to Scott that  _ rearly  _ happened because some people felt guilty--which Stiles totally understood--and others liked the feeling--which made _ less than zero sense.  _

Stiles was happy starfish lady was happy and that that was making Scott happy and Stiles was always happy to see Scott happy but none of this made him less  _ hungry.  _

“Soooo…” Stiles had Scott by the shoulder again, turning him towards the door, “About that take out you said you wanted…” 

“I want take out?” Scott asked, and Stiles thought he heard either Isaac or Derek groan behind them but ignored it. 

“Yeah, you said so, just now,” Stiles said, nodding at Scott reassuringly and he was just about to escape with Scotty and more importantly his  _ wallet  _ when he felt something  _ smack the back of his head  _ and  _ holy shit _ rude!! 

“Don’t listen to his moron, Scott,” Derek--holy shirt it was  _ Derek  _ and he was using  _ 'holy shit’  _ to much for even his liking--said just as Stiles squawked in pain. 

His hand shot up to the back of his head and it  _ burned  _ like a  _ bitch!  _

_ “ _ Oh my fuck Derek!” Stiles exclaimed, “Are your hands secretly made of concrete! Holy hell dude my head is on  _ fire,  _ it is about to  _ melt off  _ and if it ever grows back! I’ll be prematurely bald and it’s all  _ your fault!”  _

Stiles spun around to further barate Derek when it hit him-- _ metaphorically  _ this time.

Derek Hale had just touched him--it was only for a second, maybe half a one, giving Stiles  _ ten seconds  _ or just about that of freedom left that he’d already used up by mouthing the guy off. 

Those few seconds were already up. 

Stiles felt sick, he felt like something was  _ missing,  _ like his stomach had just been torn out of his abdomen and a gaping hole was left there. Stiles looked up at Derek, who looked terrified, but Stiles just felt so much  _ need  _ in that moment. A need that sucked up all of his remaining energy. 

_ God _ was this what it was to be addicted to heroine? That was always how Stiles thought of it. That soulbonds just turned people into junkies for each other. That’s what Lydia made it seem like, like the universe made you  _ dependent  _ on someone, which is probably why she and Jackson hated the bond as much as they did. Which might’ve just been why the universe picked them for each other, as Stiles liked to joke. 

Those thoughts slipped from Stiles’ mind though as he stared up at Derek’s frozen, horrified form that was quickly growing fuzzy around its edges--oh wait that was just his vision. 

He distantly heard Scott yelling? Or questioning? Had Stiles started yelling when Isaac went white as a sheet only two months ago? Stiles couldn't remember as he was too focused on reaching his hand out to Derek. It took  _ so  _ much energy and that was probably why his legs started to shake. 

If he didn’t touch Derek soon he was going to collapse. Why wasn't Derek  _ helping?  _ Hadn't Scott ran to Isaac? In eighth grade hadn't even  _ Jackson Whittemore _ stayed at Lydia's side as they both fell to the floor? 

Stiles was going to  _ break  _ if he didn't touch Derek again but he was just standing there! 

He  _ had  _ to touch Derek again before--

Stiles’s hand was still a good couple inches from Derek’s face when his legs gave out. He felt like Kirk at the end of  _ Into Darkness,  _ or Spock if one preferred the original  _ Wrath of Kahn.  _ Stiles and Derek could’ve had a  _ Kirk and Spock moment  _ if he’d just reach his hand out but  _ no  _ he had to be difficult and let Stiles die of radiation. 

No wait, he was just passing out. He thought. He could be dying. Shit.

Stiles dropped to the white and black tiled floor, the only thing he managed to say was,

_ “Fuck.”  _

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter's Derek! 
> 
> Also I just wanna say in advance that all things soulmate related will be explained. Eventually. 
> 
> ~idi2 :)


End file.
